


Dear Mr. Jeeves

by Wotwotleigh



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse, WODEHOUSE P. G. - Works
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Epistolary, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wotwotleigh/pseuds/Wotwotleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young lady writes a letter to Jeeves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This little ficlet was inspired by recent discussion of Bertie as an unreliable narrator here and in the comments to Erynn999's fic ["A Butler's Advice](http://mice1900.livejournal.com/105578.html)". No slash in this one.

Title: Dear Mr. Jeeves  
Author: Wotwotleigh  
Pairing: Bertie/Pauline (but the story is pretty gen)  
Rating: G  
Words: 1,093  
Summary: A young lady writes a letter to Jeeves.  
Disclaimer: Jeeves, Bertie et al. belong to P. G. Wodehouse. I just wrote this for fun.  
Author's Notes: This little ficlet was inspired by recent discussion of Bertie as an unreliable narrator here and in the comments to Erynn999's fic ["A Butler's Advice](http://mice1900.livejournal.com/105578.html)". No slash in this one.

 

Dear Mr. Jeeves,

My name is Rosie, and I am the last of the Woosters. That's what Dad calls me, anyway. I just turned twelve last week. I was born in Long Island, New York, and I have lived here all my life. We went to visit England when I was seven, but we didn't stay long. It was right after the war. Dad said everything felt different. I've never seen him look so sad. It wasn't like I thought it would be, either. It rained the whole time.

I can't even remember when Dad first started telling me his stories. I know I was very small. After awhile he started writing them down. He would read me a little bit every night before I went to bed, and sometimes we would lose track of how late it was because we were having such a good time. Mother would sit in her chair reading her magazines and sort of listening and laughing when she was paying attention.

Dad got a lot of money when one of his uncles died, so he doesn't really have to work, but since he started writing he makes a little extra money sometimes by writing funny essays and things for magazines. He says he never realized he had such a gift until he started writing down his memories for me. He doesn't publish those. He always says, "These stories are for your ears only, my little blister. Your great aunt Agatha would hunt me down and have my gizzard for breakfast if I published half the things I write for you."

I used to pretend all the time that I could go back in time and get to know Dad and Mother and all their friends back when they were young. There's a picture of Dad and his friend Catsmeat on the mantel from back when they were in school, and I would always stare at it and try to imagine the picture in color. When I listen to Dad's stories, I always feel like the colors must have been brighter back then. There's also a picture of Mother and Dad on their wedding day, and Dad looks so happy it's hard to believe he was so scared of getting married like he always says in the stories.

About a year ago I started wondering if Dad's stories were really true at all. I don't remember what made me get suspicious, but I think it was just a lot of little things. Like the cats in his bedroom that time when Dr. Glossop came over for lunch. When he first told me the story, it was only three cats. Then it was a few more every time until finally it was 23. I wanted to ask him about it, but at first I didn't really want to know if he was just making it all up. I finally couldn't stand not knowing, so I asked him one day if the stories were real. He just got all silly and dramatic like he always does and put his hand on his heart and said I had cut him to the quick, whatever that means. He didn't really answer my question, though. A few weeks later I asked Mother if the stories were true, and she just laughed and said "sort of." I don't think she understood why I got so upset.

I didn't want to hear the stories for awhile after that, but then I decided to just forget about it and try to enjoy them even if they weren't really true. I think Dad felt bad, but he's not good at talking to me about things like that. He just kind of pretended that nothing happened. I decided to start thinking about the stories like they were just stories – you know, like _Treasure Island_ or _The Secret Garden_ or something. I know the people in them are real, because I've seen pictures of them, and I've met some of them. Only I've never seen a picture of you, and somehow I couldn't believe anymore that you were real. Dad always made it sound like you were magical or something. I started to believe you were just made up, like St. Nicholas or the Easter Bunny. I don't know why, but it made me feel better to think that.

That was before I saw your letter to Mother. It was in a box of old pictures and things in her wardrobe. I know it's not good to snoop, and you'd probably say it was undignified and all that, but she doesn't mind if I go in there to try on her hats and things sometimes, and I thought it was just a hatbox. I was about to close it when I saw the old envelope and it said "R. Jeeves" but there was no return address. I was so excited I thought I was going to faint. I know I shouldn't have and I'm really sorry about it, but I had to read it.

I guess you probably remember what the letter said. It was from right before Mother and Dad got married, so it was to "Miss Stoker." You said you didn't think Dad could have gotten engaged to a better young lady and you knew she would take good care of him. You said you regretted having to leave him so abruptly, but your country needed your services and you couldn't give any more information. But you also said you hoped to see him again one day in better times.

I don't know if she ever showed the letter to Dad, and I don't know why you didn't just write to him. Maybe you did, and I just don't know about it. Anyway, I haven't talked to either one of them about the whole thing. It took me an awfully long time to get up the courage to write to you. If you're still out there somewhere, I hope you will come and visit like you said you wanted to. I want to meet you, Mr. Jeeves, and I know Mother and especially Dad would be so happy to see you.

I was so upset at first that there was no return address, but then I saw that you wrote the letter on Jr. Ganymede Club stationary and I just took the address from that. I don't know if you're still in the club or if it even still exists. Dad told me once that there aren't really valets and butlers anymore. If you get my letter, please write me back.

Sincerely,

Rosie Wooster

 

 

 


	2. Jeeves Replies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves replies to Rosie's letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the companion piece to my other little epistolary ficlet, [Dear Mr. Jeeves](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/958959.html). I don't know why, but this was far, far more difficult to write than the previous installment, which basically wrote itself. I'm still not entirely satisfied with it. [](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/profile)[**erynn999**](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/)  has also written her own wonderful version of Jeeves's reply, [which is here](http://mice1900.livejournal.com/105781.html).

Title: Jeeves Replies  
Author: Wotwotleigh  
Pairing: Bertie/Pauline (but the story is pretty gen)  
Rating: G  
Words: 820-something  
Summary: Jeeves replies to Rosie's letter.  
Disclaimer: Jeeves, Bertie et al. belong to P. G. Wodehouse. I just wrote this for fun.  
Author's Notes: This is the companion piece to my other little epistolary ficlet, [Dear Mr. Jeeves](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/958959.html). I don't know why, but this was far, far more difficult to write than the previous installment, which basically wrote itself. I'm still not entirely satisfied with it. [](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/profile)[**erynn999**](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/)  has also written her own wonderful version of Jeeves's reply, [which is here](http://mice1900.livejournal.com/105781.html).  
 

My Dear Miss Wooster,

I can scarcely express the astonishment and delight that I felt upon receiving your letter. I hope you will forgive the lateness of my reply, but I found myself for some time at a loss for how to begin. In fact, this is my third attempt at composing this missive, and I fear it is still hardly adequate. I am gratified that you have reached out to me, and humbled to think that in so doing you found the courage that has eluded me for so many years.

While I certainly cannot claim to possess any magical abilities, I am happy to assure you that I am quite real, alive, and well. The organisation that engaged me during the war has since been dissolved, but I am still comfortably employed by the government. Not the most diverting work, but it suffices for now. It is true that there is little call in these times for the services of a gentleman's gentleman, and such work holds little appeal for me of late. Happily, the Jr. Ganymede club still exists, and so your letter was able to reach me. However, the club is a mere shadow of its former self, and I am now but a member emeritus. 

How wonderful it is know that Mr. Wooster has built a family for himself. I remember distinctly that, during the early years of our association, he once expressed to me his desire to have a daughter. I wonder if he has ever told you the tale of his encounter with a group of mischievous school-girls and their terrible headmistress. Despite his exceptional ebullience, there were times in his youth when your father could be quite shy.

But I fear I am rambling, and I know that you did not send me such a forthright letter in the hopes of receiving mere idle pleasantries in return. Since you were so frank with me, I feel I owe you the same courtesy. Leaving your father's employ was terribly difficult for me. The years I spent in his service were some of the happiest of my life. My sense of propriety would have prevented me from saying this at the time, but now I am much older, and I find that the older I get, the less I give a damn (if you will pardon the expression). Your father was more than an employer to me. He was a friend – a very dear friend.

I considered writing to Mr. Wooster many times in the years after I left his service, but with one thing and another I never got around to it. My work during the war kept me terribly busy, and the nature of the work was so sensitive that I was precluded from much direct contact with former acquaintances and friends. My abrupt departure from your father's service was painful for me, and I was certain that his feelings would be wounded. I was not at liberty to explain the full reason for my departure or the nature of my new duties. When I saw the news of his engagement to your mother shortly after the severance of our association, any vague hope that I had of returning to his service after the war dissipated. I chose to write to your mother rather than face the task of saying goodbye to him properly. That, of course, was the letter that you read. As the years went by I felt less and less confident that Mr. Wooster would even wish to hear from me at all. It seemed to me almost as if ending my silence after so much time had passed would only compound any awkwardness between us that might have resulted from my aloofness.

The time for such flimsy excuses has long ended. I am enclosing a personal letter to Mr. Wooster along with this one. I hope he will forgive my inexcusable neglect in not contacting him years earlier.

Finally, I implore you not to despair of the truthfulness of your father's stories. However whimsical they may be, all tales hold deeper truths about the teller – and the listener. To employ the parlance of cryptography, one must simply learn to read between the lines. Your father has always been a gentleman of great sensitivity and imagination; he remains one of the most truly kind and profoundly joyful people I have ever met. I am confident that his great desire, in telling you these stories (however embellished or fanciful they may be), has not been to mislead you, but simply to impart to you some measure of his own uncommon _joie de vivre_. And that is a very great gift indeed.

When we meet – and I am confident that we shall – I will have many stories of my own to tell you of the days when I served your father. Please give my warmest regards to your parents, and tell your father that we shall indeed meet at Philippi.

Sincerely yours,

Reginald Jeeves

P.S. – There were three cats: black, tabby, and yellow, as I recall.

 


	3. Affectionately, Bertie Wooster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie replies to a letter from Jeeves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third (and probably final?) installment in my epistolary series that started with [Dear Mr. Jeeves](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/958959.html). The second part is [Jeeves Replies](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/959617.html) (and there is an awesome remix reply by [](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/profile)[**erynn999**](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/)  [here](http://mice1900.livejournal.com/105781.html)).

Title: Affectionately, Bertie Wooster  
Author: Wotwotleigh  
Pairing: Bertie/Pauline (but the story is pretty gen)  
Rating: G  
Words: 740  
Summary: Bertie replies to a letter from Jeeves.  
Disclaimer: Jeeves, Bertie et al. belong to P. G. Wodehouse. I just wrote this for fun.  
Author's Notes: This is the third (and probably final?) installment in my epistolary series that started with [Dear Mr. Jeeves](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/958959.html). The second part is [Jeeves Replies](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/959617.html) (and there is an awesome remix reply by [](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/profile)[**erynn999**](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/)  [here](http://mice1900.livejournal.com/105781.html)).

 

Jeeves, you old son-of-a-bachelor,

Where the devil did you spring up from? Good lord. I mean to say, good lord! You may consider me officially blowed.

Mind you, I’ve known something rummy was up for some time now.Rosie had been slinking furtively about the mailbox for almost a month, starting at small noises and pushing away her morning Cheerios untasted. Still, nothing could have prepared me for the shock I got when she slipped your letter to me this morning alongside the eggs and b. I must have beaten the world record for the men’s sitting high jump. How she got hold of you, I still haven’t the foggiest inkling. The little squirt’s been dashed mysterious about the whole thing.

First off, I want to soundly check all this rot about begging my forgiveness. Pauline told me all about that letter you sent her directly after she got it. I simply took it as read that you were too busy giving it to the Nazis in the seat of the pants or cracking codes in some secret lair on Baker Street to waste time hobnobbing with former employers. Dash it, I’m just jolly well chuffed to finally know you’re still alive and kicking. Pauline cried about five gallons when I showed her your letter this morning, and I don’t mind telling you I might have shed a manly t. or two myself. 

Of course you may come and visit us.Good gosh, what a question. In fact, I would venture to say that “must”, rather than “may”, is the _mot juste_. Sooner rather than later, I should think. We shall roll out the red carpet and slaughter the fatted calf. I won’t stand any guff about you paying your own way, either. As soon as you can possibly disentangle yourself from your duties to king and country, I shall secure your first class accommodations aboard the RMS Queen Elizabeth.

I’ll say there have been developments since we last spoke. Scads of them, in fact. Of course, you knew about Pauline, but I’m sure having various Rosie Woosters suddenly pop out at you unexpectedly must have been a bit of a shock to your system. It has been to mine. How such a wonderful kid could have issued from such a superlatively goofy parent as Bertram is beyond me. I suppose the credit for that must go entirely to Pauline, who, as far as I am concerned, is an angel in human form. If she hadn’t come along, no doubt I would have managed to tie my shoelaces together or set fire to my flat within a week of being left to my own devices. What is that gag about women and brows? Oh Woman, something something ease . . . It escapes me for the moment, but I’m sure you know the one. What I’m trying to get at is that she’s always on the spot whenever there’s something amiss with the Wooster brow, and she’s not a bad sport in my hours of ease, either.

I don’t think I could bung in enough superlatives to properly cover my assessment of Rosie, so I’ll just say that she is the a. of my e. and indisputably the best kid ever made. “Could I but teach the hundredth part of what from thee I learn, Rosie old pickle,” I am always saying to her. What a serious-minded little thing she is. Rather reminds me of you. You know, I’ve told her a goodish number of stories about you over the years, and before your letter surfaced I think she was starting to get the idea that her dear old dad was bursting with bologna. I’ll admit I may have stretched a point or two in the interest of entertainment, but these young squirts nowadays won’t let you get anything past them in the manner of oompus-boompus. 

Well, I have about a million and one more things I should like to say to you, and at least as many questions to ask you, but I am just going to dig my heels in and wait until you get here in person. We’re long overdue for a tête-à-tête. Sometimes it’s dashed difficult to find the words for how I feel at a moment like this, but, well . . . suffice it to say I’ve bally well missed you, my dear old soul. Do come soon.

~~Sincerely~~ Affectionately, dash it,   
                  
                Bertie Wooster  



	4. From the Diary of Pauline Wooster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves comes to visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fourth installment in my epistolary series that started with [Dear Mr. Jeeves](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/958959.html). The second part is [Jeeves Replies](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/959617.html) (and there is an awesome remix reply by [](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/profile)[**erynn999**](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/)  [here](http://mice1900.livejournal.com/105781.html)).The third part is [Affectionately, Bertie Wooster. ](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/961242.html)

Title: From the Diary of Pauline Wooster  
Author: Wotwotleigh  
Pairing: Bertie/Pauline (but the story is pretty gen); there's some slashy speculation in this one.  
Rating: G  
Words: 1,071  
Summary: Jeeves comes to visit.  
Disclaimer: Jeeves, Bertie et al. belong to P. G. Wodehouse. I just wrote this for fun.  
Author's Notes: This is the fourth installment in my epistolary series that started with [Dear Mr. Jeeves](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/958959.html). The second part is [Jeeves Replies](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/959617.html) (and there is an awesome remix reply by [](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/profile)[**erynn999**](http://erynn999.livejournal.com/)  [here](http://mice1900.livejournal.com/105781.html)).The third part is [Affectionately, Bertie Wooster. ](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/961242.html)

 

6/15/1950 

The cab rolls up around 10:00 AM. We hear the tires crunching on the drive as we're tidying up after breakfast. I've never seen Rosie sprint out the door so fast. I should see about putting that kid on the girls' track team at her school.

I stumble out onto the porch just in time to see my daughter walking up the drive next to a tall, silver-templed mensch in an impeccable black topcoat and homburg. He carries a cane in one hand and a valise in the other. He's walking with just a hint of a limp, but damned if he doesn't manage to make it look graceful somehow. Rosie's grinning from ear to ear, looking more like her dad than ever, and trotting alongside him to keep up with those long strides.

I've known for weeks that he's coming, I know who this has to be, but it takes a few minutes for my brain to catch up with what my eyes are seeing. Then his gaze meets mine, and there's that kind but inscrutable smile, the same one I saw looking down at me over the side of my father's yacht so many years ago. I feel my heart lurch.

"Jeeves!" I blurt, and I rush down the steps to greet him.

"Mrs. Wooster," he answers. That sonorous voice brings back another rush of memories. He sets down his valise so he can clasp my hand. "What a delight. If I may be so bold, you are even lovelier than I remember."

"Same to you, you old smoothie," I say, and I can't hide the break in my own voice. I know hugging Jeeves is supposed to be one of those things that simply aren't on, but I do it anyway. Chalk it up to my crass American upbringing. I throw in a kiss on the cheek for good measure. He gives a startled chuckle and pats me on the back a few times.

At that moment I hear the screen door bang open and shut again. I turn and see Bertie standing on the porch. Those blue eyes of his are big as saucers, and I can tell he's going through the same mental catch-up routine I did a moment earlier. He takes a breath to speak a couple times, but he doesn't seem to know where to begin.

Jeeves smiles ever so slightly and tips his hat. "Good morning, sir," he says.

Bertie's uncertainty melts away. He descends the front steps in a single bound. "Lord love a duck!" he exclaims. "I might even go as far as to say odds bodkins! Is it really you, Jeeves?"

"It is really I, sir."

Jeeves steps forward to meet his old friend. For the first time, Bertie notices the cane and the limp. His brow creases with concern. "I say, Jeeves," he says. "You've added a couple of new accessories to your ensemble. What happened, old bean?"

Jeeves looks at the cane pensively. "Since we parted company, sir, my life has been fraught with adventure – and not, I fear, of the consistently pleasant variety that characterized my time in your employ. This particular story is long and harrowing, and perhaps best told over a strong evening cocktail."

"Of course, of course! We'll save it for later," says Bertie. He hesitates for a moment, then reaches out and grips Jeeves's shoulders. "It's damned good to see you, Jeeves."

"The pleasure is mutual, sir," says Jeeves. A silence passes between them, and I can see a million unspoken questions in both their eyes. Rosie, who has been watching the whole exchange in rapt fascination, is beginning to fidget.

"Bertie," I say gently, "we should show Jeeves his room."

Bertie snaps back to reality with a start. "Ah, how right you are, Pauline," he says. "I'm being remiss in my hostly duties." Jeeves starts to reach for his valise, but Bertie beats him to it with a triumphant "Ha!"

"Thank you, sir," says Jeeves.

"Not at all, Jeeves," says Bertie, bounding back up the steps. "You are a guest _chez_ Wooster, and you shall receive the full treatment."

"You are most kind, sir."

"And . . . well, if it's not too much of a strain on your system, can I ask you not to call me 'sir' all the time?"

Jeeves raises an eyebrow, and a corner of his mouth turns up. "Very good, Mr. Wooster."

"I suppose 'Bertie' would be a bit much to ask for."

"Well, Mr. Wooster . . ." 

"It's all right. We must work our way up to these things." He stops suddenly, his hand on the front door handle. "Oh, gosh, I'm being a terrible bounder. You know Pauline, of course." Jeeves nods and tips his hat to me. "Have you met my daughter yet? Officially, I mean."

Jeeves turns back to Rosie, who looks completely star-struck. "Miss Rosie introduced herself to me immediately upon my arrival, Mr. Wooster. She welcomed me most hospitably. An uncommonly charming young lady."

Bertie beams with pride. Jeeves offers his arm to Rosie, and she takes it, blushing crimson. As we follow Bertie into the house, Jeeves asks Rosie if she has ever heard the story of how he saved her father from the swan.

"Yes," she says, "but I'd like to hear it again from you."

\---

It's getting late. The lawn is glittering with fireflies, and two men are laughing on the porch: my husband and his "late man" Jeeves. (I didn't know Jeeves ever laughed like that, but, come to think of it, I never really knew him that well.) Rosie was nodding off between them in her chair. I just took her up to bed.

I'll be back down in a few minutes with fresh drinks. We're all pleasantly tipsy, even Jeeves. It's the kind of night you wish could last forever.

Bertie's so happy. So am I, but I can't help but feel a bit sad, too. Sad because I know this night won't last forever, and sad because . . . I don't know why else. Is it silly to feel just a tiny bit jealous? Is it ridiculous to think that my husband is – always has been – a little bit in love with Jeeves?

Hell, that's probably just the cocktails talking. Anyway, who wouldn't be a little bit in love with Jeeves? Like Bertie always says, there's none like him. None. 

[](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/961242.html)


End file.
